Murmur (Pierce Securities Book 5) Page 5

  Valerie got up and wandered into her kitchen for something to eat. She had soup left over from last night, but the idea of eating that made her stomach turn. So she grabbed a can of chicken and opened it, eating right out of the can over the sink.

  Her phone rang, startling her.

  “Hello?”

  “Why?” The voice was cold and familiar. Dread settled in her stomach.

  She froze, feeling her heart thud, then skip a beat. Valerie swallowed.

  “Why, what? Did you think I was going to just let you waltz into my home?”

  A ragged sob tore through the phone lines.

  “What we have is different, Valerie. We’re a special kind of couple. Our love is unique. They won’t see that.”

  Valerie clutched her phone in her hands, her tether to reality where, clearly, her caller had not visited in a while. That made this all so much scarier. She wondered if someone from Pierce Securities was tracing the call, or if they were just listening in. Did she need to keep him on the line for a specific amount of time? Oh, why hadn’t she gotten more details about all this?

  Then, his voice got darker, edgier. “You’ll see, Valerie. You may not like Argyle anymore, but by the time I’m finished with you, I’ll make what he did to you look like a walk through a funhouse.” And then he hung up, leaving Valerie with silent tears slipping down her face, frozen in terror.

  “Dammit,” Quinten muttered furiously as he threw the headphones across the room to clatter in a plastic heap against the window. This asshole had some nerve, calling Valerie and threatening her with his men in the house. “Is Evan on this?” he asked Andrew, who looked on.

  “Yeah. He’s working on ambient noises and stuff. He couldn’t trace it, something about software shit, but we don’t know if Hollerman will be able to.”

  “How was she after the call?” Quinten was going to kill this motherfucker. He was fully aware this was an unrealistic reaction to have about a woman he barely knew, but he’d always been one to embrace and own his emotions. He may not talk about them much, but they were his, dammit. A man couldn’t help his feelings, and right now, he felt pure, unadulterated rage.

  Ryan shrugged, eyes wide. “She was shaky. She came in on the PA system and told me she had gotten a phone call. You could hear in her voice she was upset, but she still didn’t let me into her wing or anything.” Quinten liked Ryan. He was open and honest. He trusted the guy and knew if anything ever happened and the world ended, or zombies attacked or anything, Ryan was the man to have in his corner. He lived off the grid in the woods outside of Austin and could survive anything. He was loyal enough to keep his friends safe, too.

  Even so, Quinten felt a weird relief Valerie hadn’t invited Ryan into her sanctuary. That was something she’d only done with him. Ryan had called Quinten as soon as Valerie had gotten the phone call, and he’d come right over.

  “Go do a walkthrough of her wing, then keep doing rounds of the house. If he’s watching, he may be looking for a way in. We need to figure out where he’s watching from.” Ryan gave a two-fingered salute and spun on his heel to do Quinten’s bidding.

  Quinten called Hollerman.

  “Did you get anything on the phone call? Any background noise or anything?”

  “Not a thing. I’ll get my tech guys on it in the morning, but no guarantees. They’re backed up and slow as fuck.” Hollerman grunted as he did something on the other end of the phone line. “Hey. I worked her case four years ago. With Argyle. Thought you might want some of that information.”

  “I was going to look through the transcripts of the trial. You got anything that wasn’t in there?”

  Hollerman gave a rueful laugh. “Plenty. His family had a bunch of shit suppressed. Said it wasn’t relevant or whatever.”

  Quinten sat on the sofa and reclined his legs, throwing his head back as he listened. “Give it to me.”

  “Argyle was into some kinky shit. The housekeeper called us that morning, when she came in to work. Argyle was passed out, dead to the world, in Valerie’s blood, cuddling with her, all fucked up. They both were. He was stoned out of his mind, and she was cut to shreds. He’d strapped her up, beaten her, and then taken a blade to her face. I’ve never seen anything like it in my twenty years on the force.” A deep exhale left Hollerman, along with the sandpapery grit of him rubbing his face as he talked.

  Quinten had always admired policemen; the things they saw on a daily basis were the stuff of nightmares. He’d been jealous of Simon for going into the force instead of following in their dad’s footsteps and going the law school route. But even so, he didn’t envy his brother the things he had been expected to deal with every night on his shifts.

  “We found things, evidence of a long-term fucked up sex life. Whips. Chains. Knives. Floggers with metal studs on the ends. Real painful shit. This was an abusive lifestyle she’d been in for the duration of their marriage, I’m guessing. When Argyle came around, he tried to play it off as sex games gone too far, but I knew something was off. She wasn’t willing.”

  Quinten’s rage was overruling everything else, and he longed for his punching bag more than ever. He suddenly had some aggression he needed to release.

  “Okay,” he managed to grit out through clenched teeth. “What about tracing calls. Do y’all have a tap on her phone?”

  “Judge didn’t sign the order yesterday, but now that he’s called and threatened her, I’ll get it signed this morning and have the trace set up today. But my guess is Evan’s would be better. Not that it would be admissible, but we’re beyond that, now, aren’t we?”

  “Yeah, I want to catch this fucker. And if it’s Argyle, I’m going to fucking kill him.”

  Hollerman chuckled. “Not that I can know that, but okay. Man, I can’t wait to work on your side, renegade.”

  Quinten ended the call, stabbing his phone with his finger. His brain whirled and spun with thoughts of Valerie and his sister. Quiet rage sank into his bones, and he embraced it, his head still thrown back on the couch, fists clenched, longing for something to break.

  His sister, Bonnie, had been stalked at college. That was why she’d moved home several months ago. She never found out who her stalker was, but the college officials apparently had, and they’d “dealt” with the guy in their own way. They’d assured Bonnie he was gone but wouldn’t reveal names. Apparently, money had its privileges.

  Some guy had been calling his little sister, telling her all sorts of filthy ways he would defile her. He’d left pictures of her to find, Photoshopped with obscenities. It had scared her to death, and it wasn’t even half of what Valerie had gone through. He frowned as he thought of his sister, and guilt filled him. He needed to call her, invite her out to dinner, something. As soon as this job was finished, he would do that. Just to check up on her.

  It was sickening, the way men could use power—mental, emotional, or physical—to force women to do things. Bonnie’s stalker had tried to force her through intimidation, and Valerie’s husband had forced her through God only knew what tactics. And now this new guy, whether it was Argyle or not, was trying to force her through mental manipulation. He knew how weak she was and was capitalizing on it.

  Only Quinten knew she wasn’t weak. She was a fighter. And what she couldn’t do, he would do for her.

  Grabbing his phone again, he punched in Evan’s number, forcing a calm he didn’t feel.

  “Dude.” Evan’s answer lightened Quinten’s mood somewhat.

  “Hey, Evan. You got anything?”

  “Haven’t gotten into the phone call very deep yet, but I can tell you it was probably a burner phone. The pings are all over the place, and I don’t think I’ll be able to trace it. But I hacked into your girl’s security system, and it doesn’t look like I’m alone. I’ll be coming out later today to beef it up.”

  “Someone’s already hacked into it?” Quinten wasn’t surprised by that. It was obvious the guy had been watching her, and that was the simplest explanation. Wha
t surprised him was the way Evan referring to Valerie as “his girl” had made him positively giddy for a half a second.

  “Yup. I’m working on getting an address for you, or at least a general area, before I shut it down.”

  “Get on that. I need this fucker.”

  A low chuckle greeted him. “I’m on it.”

  “What’s so funny?” Quinten growled.

  “Nothing. It’s just you seem to be taking a keen interest in this one.”

  “It’s a shitty situation. No woman should have to take this much abuse just because of a perceived weakness.”

  “Okay. Fair enough. Have you looked at the lawyer much? He’s an old alumnus of your school.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Brandon Fuller, of Fuller and Associates. I quit running the background on him because I need the processor space for this hack, but there’s something hinky about how he’s insinuated himself into her life.” Quinten blinked, trying to still his mind while letting the clickity clack of Evan’s computer keys lull him.

  “Okay, I’ll look into him. You go on with that hack.”

  A dull ache bloomed in his gut as Quinten remembered exactly who Brandon Fuller was. A sense of incredible futility filled him as he realized he knew Brandon. He was an old roommate. A friend of a friend. He’d lived with them briefly, just not long enough to get to know the guy.

  And he’d cultivated black roses.

  On day two of his new job, Quinten had figured out he preferred to stay outside as much as possible. It wasn’t because Valerie Dunaway silently followed him around her inner sanctuary when he did his rounds, or the small clues to her character around her house—like the fact the entire Earth’s Children series showed up in the room he’d made his office, as if he’d take the time to read them all while he was supposed to be watching her. Nor was it the fact he was no closer to figuring out who her intruder was.

  No, it was her scent, everywhere and in everything. Her clean, citrusy scent with the undertones of something earthier, the white tea aroma. It was a purely feminine scent. A scent he’d discovered drove him crazy.

  So he spent a lot of time walking the estate’s perimeter, admiring the elegant landscaping and the statuary and fountains. Quinten still spent a lot of time indoors, trying to block out her smell, but it was hard.

  Or he was hard.

  Whatever.

  He knew Valerie wanted to talk to him but was having a hard time with it. He knew what it was like to grow up in the public eye but had no clue what it was like to be yanked from it against your will because he couldn’t really understand willingly wanting to be there. He didn’t know what sort of healing she’d gone through to get where she was now, if any. He didn’t know the depth of her anxiety; he only knew agoraphobia was a high-anxiety disorder, and he’d seen the anxiety first hand.

  Her mind was her own worst enemy, and she was trapped inside this house with nothing but her mind for company, working against her most of the time. And her stalker was capitalizing on that. Somehow, the guy knew her every move and was making sure she knew he knew. His phone call and his intruding told them everything they needed to know. He was watching her. Probably had been watching for a while.

  He was making a plan to go talk to the ex-husband after this shift. That might shed some insight into the depths Quinten was just realizing Valerie Dunaway had.

  Brandon Fuller and Argyle Ford had been friends before Argyle had gone too far with his bedroom games. Apparently, Brandon had picked a side and after that, as far as the public records showed, he was in Valerie’s camp. The way she spoke of her lawyer, he was one of the trusted few with a key to her house. Quinten was going to determine if Brandon’s private side held the key to Valerie’s intruder. But first, he had a visit to make.

  Argyle Ford had been paroled and now lived with his uncle, Jerry Stadford, in a mansion in the secluded end of Lake Travis. After driving up a long, winding drive, Quinten was met with a gated entrance that was actually sitting open. He let himself in, not seeing any need to show his hand, and parked in front of the house. He rang the bell and waited, expectantly, but when Argyle answered the door, it was clear he was expecting someone else.

  “Mae, I told you to just come in—” he started when he saw Quinten. “I’m sorry. Who are you?” Quinten smiled, more because he’d caught the guy off guard, apparently ready for some action of a different sort, judging by his attire.

  “I’m Quinten Pierce. I wanted to ask you a few questions regarding a case I’m working on, if I may.” He flashed his Private Investigator’s badge briefly, hoping the man didn’t look too closely. He counted on the officiousness of his voice to demand answers, and he wasn’t disappointed.

  “Uh… Sure. Come in. We’ll have to make this quick. I’m expecting company.” Ford’s eyes darted behind Quinten, searching for his guest to appear and take the pressure off. Face falling, he opened the door a bit wider, allowing entrance, even as his shoulders slumped in defeat.

  Quinten eyed the satiny robe Argyle wore, loosely belted to sort of hide the man’s nakedness, and nodded. “I’m sure.” He followed Argyle into the living room off the foyer, a modern chrome and glass monstrosity filled with white leather furniture. His uncle was most assuredly a bachelor. Or else any children were kept locked in cages to keep everything so clean.

  Argyle sniffed and wiped his nose absently as he sat on the sofa, flashing Quinten with no remorse. Dude was manscaped with precision, and Quinten threw up a little inside his mouth.

  Swallowing it back, he pulled out his notebook, making himself look official, rattling off the date of the break-in at Valerie’s house, asking for Argyle Ford’s whereabouts.

  As he answered, the man’s eyes shifted around, searching his memory banks, or coming up with plausible scenarios. He made notes of the answers, but they didn’t much matter. Quinten was here to check the dude’s body language and comfort level with questions. He didn’t bring up Valerie yet.

  But he was trying desperately to reconcile the slimy character in front of him with the gorgeous creature he’d seen. Why had she married the douchebag? It was clear by his dilated pupils, flushed skin, and nervous ticks he was high on something. Judging by the sniffles, it was coke or something else he’d inhaled. That didn’t bode well for his parole officer.

  Not that parole officers couldn’t be bought.

  As Argyle spouted on about how many hours he’d been working at the soup kitchen and homeless shelter downtown, raising donations and such in all his massive amounts of free time, Quinten saw he was hiding something. But he couldn’t tell what. He was affable to a fault, no doubt nervous about Quinten, the “police officer’s” presence in the parolee’s home.

  “What about Brandon Fuller. Do you still talk to him?”

  Ford’s eyes widened with surprise. “No. I haven’t spoken with him in years.” A boyish smile brightened his face. “We did used to have some fun together, though, if you know what I mean.”

  Feigning ignorance, Quinten bit, “No, I don’t. Like, y’all shared country club memberships?”

  Ford barked a harsh laugh. “Not exactly. But we shared other things.” Quinten could guess but didn’t. Today wasn’t about guessing games.

  So he dropped the bomb. “Have you attempted any contact with Valerie Dunaway since your release?”

  Argyle Ford’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Is that what this is all about? That bitch? Hell no, I haven’t tried to contact her. I’m not stupid! I got a batch of bad shit that night, it made me crazy. I should be able to sue the fucking dealer who sold it to me.” Continuing his tirade in a frenzy of muttered curses only added evidence he was fucked up right now.

  Quinten managed to keep a straight face, disregarding the sudden fury he felt at the idiot’s words.

  “She and that asswipe Brandon put me in prison. I saw things there, things no man should ever see.” Argyle sat forward on the couch, an exaggerated shudder wracking his limbs. “I’m following
the terms of my parole to the letter, including no contact with my ex-wife,” the man fairly growled at Quinten.

  Not if he was high, but Quinten didn’t say anything about that. “Well, I guess that answers everything,” he breezed as he stood to leave. Just as he turned to make his way to the door, it opened, and an amazon of a woman strode in wearing a mini-skirt, halter top, and sky-high heels.

  “Argie, baby, I’m sorry I’m– Hello, I’m Mae Turner,” her voice turned to a seductive purr as she ogled Quinten and held out a well-manicured talon.

  “I’m just leaving.” He made a mental note of her name to have Evan run through his computer stuff, but he was pretty sure Mae Turner was paid to be there. He couldn’t see any self-respecting woman willingly there with Argyle Ford. Which begged the question of why had Valerie married him in the first place?

  Then he saw the shoes by the front door. How he’d missed them coming in, Quinten didn’t know, but there they were, caked in dried, black mud. Mud that looked like the rich, freshly-turned soil in Valerie Dunaway’s flowerbeds. He couldn’t do anything about it without obtaining a sample to have tested.

  “Any good hiking around here?” Quinten asked nonchalantly.

  “Yeah, down by the lake out back,” Argyle answered as he tugged Mae down into his lap. Quinten was forgotten as he let himself out. Surely, if a man’s hiking boots got muddy out back, he would take them off by the door he came in. Why walk all the way around to the front of the massive house to take your shoes off there?

  The next day, Quinten was in the main kitchen making his lunch when he smelled her. Valerie hadn’t spoken to him much, and hadn’t shown herself at all, so he froze, trying to anticipate whether she wanted him to actually see her or not. When she didn’t make a sound, he allowed her scent to take over the smells of his lunch, and the clean, fresh, feminine scent swamped him.

  Slowly, he turned and found her standing in the doorway to the kitchen, as if she were giving herself a mental push. She wore jeans and a wrap-around sweater thing that tied on the side. He was sorely tempted to tug on the pretty little bow and watch it reveal the stunning curves it highlighted. But he clenched his fist at his side instead.